Elapse of Twenty
by Poseida Lunar
Summary: My own epilogue. Hints of HPDM. A take into the lives of the students of Hogwarts twenty years after the death of Voldemort.


**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything of Harry Potter, don't sue.

**Warning:** Small mentions of HPDM

**Author's Note:** This is my own Epilogue, some what, simply because I hate the real one. :P

* * *

**(Hermione Granger-Weasley, age 38)**

A lovely ray of sunlight shone through the glass window of Hermione's home office, beaming a soft, fluent light upon her desk. She looked up from her work for a moment and at the beautiful afternoon setting, at the mesmerizing way the golden giant hid itself halfway behind a cluster of trees that Ron had planted in their garden.

Being a married woman of age thirty-eight, Hermione became more appreciate about life. She'd came to realize that every second mattered, and that every breath she took was every breath she lost. It was an age for her to admire beauty, not to be involved in people or their welfares. The beauty in trees, in another's heart, in mother nature and in life. But most of all, beauty in...

**(Harry Potter, age 38)**

...Memories that still had not gone away. They roamed Harry's everyday thoughts; the past, the dying people, the war and friends. Sure, some time he'd wonder how Draco was doing, but his thought always wandered back to the old times.

School, Hogwarts. Those seven years had been the best years of his life. And he'd relive those memories every single day as he took the attendance of his Auror teams, assigned them to missions, and during boring meetings that no one ever paid any attention in. He'd think about the past, think about the losses and gains, think about, Ron, Hermione, Pansy Parkinson, his least favorite Potion Professor, Voldemort.

Hogwarts was...

**(Neville Longbottom, age 38)**

….A place of magic of enchantment, of wonderfully flourishing plants and flowers.

"Now class," he instructed his second year Herbology students and held up the left-over pair of pink ear mufflers. "Remember, the scream of the Mandrakes can cause severe damage, even death. Be sure to put these mufflers on firmly. Yes Miss Turtledove?"

"Are they cute?" she asked with hopeful eyes.

Neville suppressed the urge to scrunch his face up with disgust as he remembered his first Mandrake experience in his second year, how the hideous plant baby that had nearly kicked him right in his left eye.

"Not really," he told her. "Now, when I say go, put on the ear mufflers. When I give a thumb up, you may pull out the Mandrake. When I give a thumb down, settle it back into the pot and recover it with dirt. Pack the soil down tight. Only when _I_ take off my mufflers would you have the permission to do the same. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal," two Ravenclaw girls said, and began to giggle.

He put on...

**(Ginevra Reginauld née Weasley, age 37)**

...Her pearl necklace for her. Mrs. Ginevra Reginauld née Weasley turned around and gave Antony Reginauld a tiny peck on his cheek as they both gazed into the mirror. With his messy hair, he resembled much like Harry. The frame of his face to his deep blue eyes reminded her of her first love too. Too bad their relationship hadn't worked well.

"You look stunning, you'll be the queen of this ball," he whispered huskily into her ears, leaving her throat dry and her spine tingling with pleasure. He may look like Harry, but Anthony was more of a man than Harry ever was. Seductive, loving, caring, everything she asked for.

He brought her out of the raging storm she called Past, and lead her to the open sky called Future.

But some times, she would have recalls, still haunting her. Still.

She stepped...

**( Luna Scamander, née Lovegood age 37)**

...Into the musky cave, searching for signs of the Moon Frogs that once inhabited the place. Perhaps if she was lucky, she might come upon a fossil or some other clues that might tell her the whereabouts of the frogs. Around her neck was a Shaman necklace and around her two wrists were matching Shaman bracelets. She will be protected from evil Wrackspurts.

"That Dragonfly has glowing blue eyes," she told the air beside her, which was suppose to be her friend, Bob. "Rolf will be so pleased."

As she wandered deeper into the cave, the crystals dangling from her bracelets twinkled in the dark. A gush of cool wind blew at her, sweeping her blond hair...

**(Pansy Parkinson, age 38)**

...Up. It twirled around her, coming nearly alive as she fired _Crucio_ at the Auror in front of her. Theo was fifty feet away, surrounded by their enemies from every angle.

Pansy let out a laugh as the pitiful fool fell down to the ground, clutching his heart in pain. Lady of Torture; over the years, she had taken the late Bellatrix Lestrange's title, a reward worthy of her doings. She could control where it will hurt, how much it will hurt, she could pinpoint muscles, and if that spot hurt hard enough...

"Aaaaaaaah!!!" The last scream of the man echoed like music in her ears.

Her and Theo, the two last Death Eater left. All the others had been captured or killed. _Careless, how careless of them,_ she mused as she struck another Auror. Her cloak bellowed around her as she gazed almost lazily down at the scenario below the steep slope. Theo slaughtering man after man with no mercy, laughing like he had just won this game.

_But you're still playing, Theo. It's careless to laugh. Don't be careless. Don't.... Oh well, I guess it's too late._

A small smile lingered her face as Theo went down with their last enemy.

Then she laughed again. "How careless! What have I told you? You shouldn't be so-"

And a green light behind her.

"...careless..."

Down, down...

**(George Weasley, age 41)**

"…Goes the pill. It'll stop it's trip right at your large intestine, divide itself up into tiny little pieces and then.... EXPLOSIONS!!!"

The children around him screamed with fright and delight, half of them going after the little blue pill he was holding in his hand, eager to have it in their possession.

"It's a very good thing to have if you want to lay off school for a couple of hours," he continued. "the tiny explosions in your little tummy will make your parents think that you're sick. Come back on Monday for our Grand Explosive Pills opening, where you can get twenty of these little babies for the price of just one Sickle!"

The children cheered with hooted around the shop as he attempted to usher them out. It was closing time, he told the young confused one who wanted to stay in the store, uncle Gred has to go home now.

When they're all gone, he quickly closed the door of shop, then sunk down onto the floor, tired.

Some where in here, he could hear a silent voice loudly laughing at him for working so hard.

"It could've been you, Forge," he bickered with the still air.

And the voice...

**(Draco Malfoy, age 38)**

...Won't leave him alone.

He never told Harry what. Heck, he never told Harry anything. He didn't want his lover to worry.

To drown the voice, he'd often sing to himself, or put on that Muggle box Harry called Television, or trying to call Granger and argue with her about the properties of some potion or another. Something to get his mind off that voice, something to prevent himself from crying.

But whenever he slept alone at night without Harry there to distract him, the voice would return, and the pillow would once again be stained with tears. A gentle soft hand of the past would caress him, a melodious voice would ring around the room. And it was the same tune every time; it always, always goes like this:

_Hush little baby, don't you cry  
__Mother's here to sing you a song tonight  
__Dry those tear and close your eyes  
__Go to sleep as I tell you, "goodnight"_

And sometimes, he could see Narcissa's face on the white wall of his bedroom, smiling at him.


End file.
